Motörheart
by Argeon
Summary: Falling into madness, the Engineer does everything to keep the team together and defending the point from robots, but he can't stop insanity from slipping over everyone. Reviews very much appreciated!


**MOTÖRHEART**

By Argeon

_"Sweet Jesus, war does terrible things to men."_

The Demoman's teeth shined from across the table, like the stars outside the crumby wooden shed. An old cigar on the other side turned gruesomely red in the darkness of the small room as the Soldier inhaled deeply, trying to appear unbothered by the certain unease in the air. Four cards on the table, four cards in their hands, and one more to go. One measly card could decide the fate of all the other eight out. A droplet of sweat rolled down the ragged skin of the soldier and fell red on his nine of hearts. It then rolled down to the deathly black 7 of spades before being rubbed off with a coarse skin of his thumb. A stench of smoke and vomit violated their noses mercilessly, polluting their lungs and making their chests burn. However, the wild cocktail of fear and tension made them ignore the terrible scent and focus on the pitiful game of poker.

The last card was about to be revealed. Beads of ashy nervousness formed on the Demoman's head, glowing bright red on his dark skin whenever the soldier inhaled. The Demoman reached for the stack of semi-crumpled cards and flipped one on to the crumbling wooden table, beside the other four. The ace of spades.

They looked into each other's eyes, expressing no emotion like machines. Still staring at each other, they tossed their cards on the table, blandly. A quiet, but fierceful competition was going between the two heavily-intoxicated beasts. Evaluating what they had, they realized that the Demoman had a better hand than the Soldier.

However, all nine cards just as pointless as the nine mercenaries. They were just like cards in a deck. Could be used for fun, could be toyed with, could be burnt.

The Soldier puffed out the thick smoke and stared at the Demoman, grinning cheerfully due to his victory. He pulled his cigar out and looked down for a second, deciding what to do. He thought it half-way through and began. He stood up and walked to the money on the table. The Demoman reached out and guarded by grasping the money in a hug, staring at him with flaming eyes. The Soldier squeezed a phony smile and quickly pressed his cigar into the Demoman's cheek. He shrieked and threw his hand at the Soldier, knocking him backwards a couple of steps.

"Oi, laddie, wa do you think yer doin'?

The Soldier crashed into the Demoman again, screaming insults at him a throwing punches here and there.

"You cheatin' son of a bitch! I know you cheated, I know it! You won five times in a row, you stealin' nigger."

Upon hearing those words, the Demoman's single eyes exploded into an inferno of rage. He kicked the Soldier square in the chest, launching him on to his back stunned and threw the chair he was just sitting on several seconds ago at the man. It barely got him by his chest before it smacked against the floor, shattering into a sticks. With a scream of fury, the Demoman picked up a sizable chip and stabbed at the Soldier, pounding him and destroying him with mighty blows of his. In a matter of seconds, the Soldier recomposed himself and swung his leg at the Demoman's calves. As there legs connected, both found themselves to be on the floor, pounding the living out of each other.

"Boys, cut it out!" a Texan voice barked for behind. The fighting stopped and the two men looked around to see the Engineer, staring at the with his goggles on and wrench in hand.

"The robots are comin' from the Valley of Steel to try to destroy the decoy. I suggest if ya bastards want to live to see another night pass, you'd better stop fightin' and get the hell to work."

The Engineer had lost his easy-going, country boy attitude a long time ago. After many months of murder and losses, his soul weathered down to his primal, brutish behavior. He, along with most of the others was breaking bad and losing his personality to become better on the field. He walked towards the flipped table and picked up a half-empty bottle of rum. Then, he scrunched up his face into a look of disgust and turned around, walking away from the room down the gloomy corridor. Footsteps got quieter and quieter until they were heard no more. The Demoman pushed his teammate of and stood up. He looked around for his chair, which was nowhere to be seen after the soldier smashed it on him. A drunken roar thundered from the Demoman, surprising the Soldier very much that he shifted backwards, but then he collapsed on to the floor, snoring like a pig. The Soldier crawled up against the wall and pushed himself up. He had accidentally rolled on to a sharp stick of wood while fighting on the ground. The chip wasn't fatal, but it was sizable enough to cause difficulty moving and blood to seep a little bit. He sniffed and pulled it out a little as he looked at the scattered money, some soaked in his blood, some crumpled up like unfinished ideas and some ripped to shreds. This money was worthless to him if he couldn't defeat the iron wave he'd see tomorrow. Feeling depressed, he pulled out a new cigar and lit it up. The dim bloody glow illuminated the room slightly and the Soldier stumbled out of the room, red drops following him.

A maniacal laughter was coming from the other side of the shed. It wouldn't stop, no matter how much time passed. Insanity was slow corrupting the tortured German. His crazy glance, his cruel smile, everything about his seem to be crooked and unnatural. Not surprising, considering he had been around the dead more than anyone else. Sometimes, he would lock himself up for days in his lab with the freshly brought corpses from the battlefield, giggling and whispering loudly to himself, coming out with a grin wider than before, his eyes focused into the distance, and blood staining his clothes from shoes to his chest. A terrifying sight to anyone else. The very same laughter resonated now, in the murky darkness of the shabby house. The Medic had a rusty saw in his hand which he was using to scratch words and phrases into the wall, creating an irritating noise petrifying to the ear. A bulk of steel-like muscle crashed into the old wooden doors, barely surprising the Medic from his eccentric form of entertainment. A cigar landed on the floor, bouncing once and rolling towards the doctor and the Soldier stumbled onto a nearby table, grasping it tightly with both hands to hold himself steady. The wood was beginning to cause severe pain. The Medic looked over at the cigar and then at the panting soldier. His smile disappeared with an angry frown.

"What the hell do you want?"

The Soldier threw a glance at the Medic, irritated that the Medic was either being stupid or purposefully annoying him by ignoring his wound. Nonetheless, pointing his finger at the the tattered part of his clothes, he grunted. The Medic ruthlessly threw his fist at the pointed location. A scream of agony rang throughout the house and through the rocks in the canyons outside. Slowly, the Medic lowered his fist and the Soldier grasped his side, yelling in total pain.

"Does it like I give _ein einziger_ fuck?"

Grimacing, the Soldier let out a moan-grunt and attempted to climb back up. A sharp kick was sent at the Soldier, letting out another shrill out. Tears now physically ran out of the man's eyes, mixing with the blood on the floor.

"Do you know what? You'd make a _fein _body for my collection."

The deranged smile came out again on the German's face.

"N-n-no."

He stopped for a bit, as if intaking and analyzing what the Soldier just mumbled at him. Then, out of nowhere, he cackled wickedly. A thud sounded as he fell first on to his knees, and then on to his side, still letting out an evil laughter. The Soldier stared in trembling fear as the Medic slowly crawled to his bonesaw by the wall. Heavy steps sounded outside in the corridor, effectively turning the heads of both. Two worn rubber boots steps stepped inside, pointing a decrepit shotgun at the savage in white and red.

"Don't you fuckin' touch him."

The Engineer looked down, still pointing the shotgun at the Medic in the corner, who seemingly wanted to challenge its authority, but was hesitant to do so. A gruesome sight of the Soldier, soaked in tears and blood, lying on the floor in a fetal position. Crouching, he shook the man's shoe.

"Get out of here. I'll help you."

For a split moment, it seemed like the room had finally calmed down, but those priceless seconds were interrupted by a raspy screech. Looking up, the Engineer saw the Medic charging at him with his saw. Time was critical, as death for moments away for the Engineer. With a precise movement, the Engineer sent the Medic flying unconscious to the floor by swiftly gutting him in the stomach with the butt of his shotgun. He lowered his shotgun and slumped his shoulders, looking at the slightly-twitching body of the Medic, appearing like a stereotypical tired hero in a movie. He breathed out deeply, tilting his attention towards his wounded companion.

"C'mon buddy, lemme help y'out."

"Are y-y-you one of them? Tell me, or I-I swear, I'll shoot you!"

Shivering in fear, the Sniper pointed his submachine gun at the Spy, who was throwing his hands around in the air, making childish faces at the Sniper.

"Are you going to kill me? A King?"

The Spy hopped around, snorting from laughter while the Sniper fearfully pointed his gun at the bouncing lunatic. The Sniper was no longer the professional and content man he used to be. His filthy hair obscured his once-pristine vision and the nervous shakes were fumbling his aim beyond salvation. A mental breakdown occurred a while back ago when he had killed his teammate, the Pyro. Scared to death, he pointed his rifle at the charging maniac and pulled tightly on the trigger. Immediately he was covered in meaty chunks of brain, stained chips of what used to be a skull, and an unwashable wave of blood. He never forgave himself, constantly shaming himself and making him wonder if anyone else would ever try to kill him.

"M-m-aayyyte I swear on m'mum that I'll... I'll..."

The Spy stopped bouncing around and approached the wiggling body of the Sniper, smiling creepily at him.

"Do what, _garçon_? Kill the King?"

Clenching his teeth, the Sniper pulled back and attempted to make distance between the himself and the Spy. Unfortunately, he bumped into the wall which made him shriek like a girl. At that exact moment, two almost human men entered the room, one sulking on the other. Bullet rang out in the darkness, surprising everyone.

"Stop it! Stop it now!"

The Texan screamed at the Sniper to stop, but he didn't. Flashes lighted up the room ever so slightly - enough to show the terrified face of the Sniper as he fired forwards and up. With a profound thud, the Engineer dropped the Soldier and tackled the Sniper, fumbling his weapon and scaring the Australian senseless. A last sound was heard from the Sniper. It wasn't another bullet, though. Judging from the smell, the Engineer concluded the Sniper defecated from fright. He returned back to his friend and picked him up, angry at the Spy.

"Why the hell did ya do that for?"

The Spy did not reply, but instead stared at the Engineer, who grew progressively angrier. The Engineer asked again, and still got no answer. Exhausted, the Engineer got tired of the silence and put the Soldier on a nearby bed. The shanty bed creaked like an opening coffin as the Soldier shifted into a comfortable position. The Engineer placed a chair beside him and examined the wound. It was getting infected at this point, so the pulled out the bottle of rum he took from the Demoman earlier. It was the only that could be done. Gently, he shook the resting giant.

"Hey buddy, drink some."

He reached out the bottle as the Soldier opened one eye slowly. Noticing it was the Demoman's bottle his gaze suddenly darker and more ferocious, but it calmed down. He grabbed it and started gulping away.

"Slow down - you don't want to pass out."

The warning didn't stop him from chugging just about everything inside and burping with violent pleasure. They both smiled - one from getting his giggling drunk high and the other from seeing his friend feel relaxed. However, there was a more important issue at hand. A wound needed to be treated and there might not be enough rum left. Examining the russet bottle, he determined that there was just enough to effectively clean out. Without hesitation, he poured the rest on the wound. Surprisingly, a very faint welp came from the Soldier. There weren't any bandages, so the engineer just wrapped a shaggy blanket tightly around his stomach. The Soldier's snore shook the house.

It was a cold outside. Not freezing, but enough to give you a death of a cold. The Scout shivered, covering his bare, thin arms with his tiny hands. He rubbed them up and down, but it wasn't working. The shivers hadn't gone away since they started several months ago after he witnessed a tragedy occur in his base. He just stood there, looking up into the dark, cold sky. A blue dot spun around in the sky - maybe a comet, maybe a figure of his stalled imagination. Whatever it was, it brought him a slight relief. He managed to whisper the first word after several months of being mute.

"D-d-ho-o-vy."

"You alright, boy?"

The scout jumped slightly, but kept silent like a corpse. The Engineer frowned and looked at his shoes. He was really disappointed that the only true youth was robbed of his golden years and would never be the man he could be. The Scout could've been a model - he was damn handsome. He could've been an athlete - he had the determination. He could've done so much more, but no, he would never experience the beauty of life.

"Look, I just wanted to tell you..."

He looked up to see the Scout was tearing up a little.

"I wanted to tell you that you need to get ready. Tomorrow's the beginning of the end."

The Scout turned around and walked away with no hesitation, no regret, only tears. The Engineer felt genuinely sympathetic for the Scout, but in times like these, sympathy would only drag the team into the ground. It was time to be authoritative to try to survive humanly temptations and feels to make it through the tough times. Alas, little did he know that the downfall was already beginning and no divine power could intervene to change. The Engineer looked up into the blackish pit above him one more time, turned around and went inside.

The next day dawned upon the men. The pale light shined through the cracks of the shed, providing a less-than-decent supply of light inside. One by one, all of the men exited and stood outside, yawning and gazing at the rising sun. Eventually, everyone came out and stood ready.

"Oi, what 'appened to the Snipah? He smells like shit!"

The rest of the group concurred by nodding their heads, except the Engineer. He looked dead at the horizon, waiting for something to happen. The rest of the team started to show similar behaviors of the previous night: maniacal laughter, drunk behavior, extreme paranoia, and so one so forth. Only the Engineer - the only thread between total anarchy and the team. Even though the hand of insanity didn't reach him, his soul wasn't incorruptible. Moments later, the downfall was visible in the distance, approaching at great speeds. Everyone's eyes widened and jaws dropped; even the Scout. Only the Engineer stood prepared.

"Nah, this ain't no bad dream," grouched the Engineer, pumping his shotgun. He looked around at everyone.

"Pony up, boys."

This is what you get for pretending the danger's not real.

A billow of dark smoke rose into the fleshly-pink sky, corrupting the pleasant evening into a nightmarish night. A tint of red shined just barely through the thick clouds, shining upon the severed ground. Ragged monsters covered the earth, scattered like unwanted litter, mixed between rusty metallic cogs and bolts. In the corner by the small splintered staircase lay a Texan brute, thrown back by the impact of the bomb and barely conscious. Beside him were his companions, either dead or almost dead.

He limply forced his head around, examining his team. The Sniper was twitching on the ground, as if a seizure had struck him. Beside him was a blacked-out Medic, blood and saliva dripping from his half-open mouth in a thick concoction. Closer to the former location of the bomb, the Spy's tormented face could be seen in the consuming flames. The poor fool met his end miserably. Others were bound to be nearby, but the Engineer had lost his strength. His head fell down and he lost it.

When the Engineer had opened his eyes, it was darker than before. Unusually dark. He was only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air. Upon attempting to move, the Engineer realized the full horror he was in. Strapped tightly by all four limbs, he was in the Medic's office!

A bright light flashed, revealing the curled and mangled face of the Medic, teeth glaring from his wild smile, eyes flashing with desire.

"Why, _guten morgen_, my friend!" He lifted up a familiar rusty saw and placed it against the now-panicking Engineer who was jerking around, trying desperetly to get out - _to live_, but with little result. The Medic let out a chuckle and took out a crusty handkerchief, which he smiled at, sneaking a look at the panicking Engineer. Not taking a second thought, he stuffed it into the Engineer's mouth, who's eyes widened with terror. He began screaming, but everything that he said came out in muffled grunts. Still crookedly smiling, the Medic picked something up and slapped it on the table. The Engineer, cocking his head in the direction, could not tell what it was. Hyperventilating, he was on he verge of passing out again.

"Shhhh. Engineer, you vill pass out!"

His eyes lit up and he lifted the crude brown bonesaw. Most of its teeth were dull, but some were still jagged. With his fading life, the Engineer gazed on the saw, glaring back him. It ripped him apart with insane pleasure. Down the trodden corridors not a sound of pain was to be heard.

The pale sun rose again, but the dead don't rise. The Spy's charred corpse lay by the bomb, the team around it, but the attention wasn't on his bones. The Scout, Demoman, Sniper, Soldier and Medic were staring at the unrecognizable man. He wasn't even man anymore. His hands were mechanical constructions, one looked like a metal hand, the other some sort of short circuit. His arms were mutilated, along with his body, were the Medic had 'modified' him. The Engineer wasn't himself anymore. Whilst everyone was in human shock, broken by the sight of the last moral fiber becoming a beast, the Medic smiled and whispered:

"Motörheart..."

"Jesus christ!" The Scout exploded in fury. The others weren't even surprised that the Scout had said something. They were to dumbstruck by the sight of the Engineer, "What the hell did ya do to the guy?"

"I enhanced him! He is now ze ubermensch - ze motörheart! The shotgun that pierced both enemy and foe now only pierces the enemy! The sentry which broke now repairs! The hands that did nothing now build once again! The body that once died lives!"

The Medic thought he was doing god's work, but he was devil's right hand. Disgusted and outraged, the Scout stammered to say something - to defend the Engineer - to bring to question what ungodly horrors the Medic had committed - to sort out right from wrong, but something in the distance stopped him. His eyes shifted slowly to the left. Wave upon wave of demented robots clunkered in the distance. Meek and obedient they follow their leader's orders - to finish the rest of the mercenaries off.

In the distance, the shadow kept growing and the rattling grew louder. The Soldier shouted orders, barking for everyone to get into positions. The Engineer couldn't think straight, as if he was brain-dead. He looked at his grey, metallic arms. His once-human hands were no more, his once-human flesh were no more. He was human no more. He looked up and witnessed the horde of robots already at the jumping down to attack. Wasting no time, he placed a sentry.

Within seconds, the robots tore in like a wave, chattering and glaring with their electronic eyes. The sentry aimed at them but didn't fire.

"Engineer, where are y-"

As the Soldier and Demoman pounced from behind the corner, the sentry turned around and with a beep made contact. The Engineer looked blandly at the bloodied sight, the terror in their reddened eyes not moving him. He picked up his shotgun and exited the tiny shed. In the near distance, the Medic was charging his uber on the Scout, who was effectively picking off the robots one by one. The Sniper was not moving on the ground, most likely killed off by a stray shot.

"Engineer," the Medic cried out, "we need your help!"

A second later, the Medic was thrown backwards by a shotgun blast. The Engineer pumped and approached the Scout, terrified and confused at the sight of friendly-fire. The Engineer managed to recall the night when this boy looked up into the stars right before he aimed at him. Now he was there.

With his team all gone, the Engineer turned to face the robots, who continued to chatter brainlessly, with the single thought of bringing the bomb. He pointed and aimed, ready to take on every single one of these metal bastards. The shotgun did not fire, for it only pierced the enemy. The robots did fire at him, for they did not see an enemy in him - he was like one of them. The former engineer joined their wave and headed to the base with bomb.

_He had become the motörheart._


End file.
